


Some Feelings Are Worth Having

by woodenduck



Category: Battleborn
Genre: Existential Angst, Gen, One Shot, Sandwiches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 05:11:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6642610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodenduck/pseuds/woodenduck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isic and Oscar Mike are both manufactured people whose creators rejected them living in a terrifying galaxy that's rapidly headed towards Armageddon.  Isic can't figure out why Oscar Mike isn't as crushed by the weight of existence as he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Feelings Are Worth Having

Oscar Mike’s sense of purpose was dumbfounding.

When Isic had first met the guy, he’d dismissed it as being part of the whole “unthinkingly dutiful clone soldier” thing; all the clones he’d met before were more than eager to dive onto a grenade for a useless cause which he knew few, if any, of them even understood. But while this was true for Oscar Mike to a certain degree, Isic had started to notice something different in him that he couldn’t put his finger on. Oscar Mike charged onto the battlefield with the same unyielding resolve as any member of the Mike series, but something about the way he carried himself felt less...scripted than the rest of them. Maybe it was in the way he didn’t hold his head quite as high, or maybe it was the wavering fear he’d heard in his voice several times when he’d been riddled with bullets or hurt too badly to keep up, or maybe it was in the moments he saw him hesitate before rushing towards an injured ally, and chucking a grenade at their assailants. 

The idea that Mike wasn’t simply ignorant of their situation, that something besides mindless dedication to some abstract concept of duty might be driving him was...troubling.

Isic didn’t plan on confronting him about it, but the next time he saw Oscar Mike walking down a hallway alone (a rare occurrence; it was almost impossible to catch him without Montana or one of his other friends), he found himself stepping out in front of him, unintentionally blocking his path and causing him to drop sandwich he was carrying in surprise.

“Haha, whoops! Sorry fella!” Isic chirped, his voice far too loud and too cheery as he bent down to pick up food Mike had dropped, spectacularly failing his attempt not to squish it between his large metal fingers as he offered it back to him. Mike accepted it with what Isic guessed was reluctance, but it was hard to tell with the helmet masking his face.

“Oh, hey, it’s cool I guess,” Mike said, sounding a little stunned as he cleared his throat, “I mean, uhh...guhh...at ease, soldier. Did you want something?” Finding himself momentarily distracted by the unfamiliar softness in Mike’s “casual conversation” voice, Isic was silent for a moment too long.

“Well, gosh, now that you mention it, I did have a question for you,” Isic said, and, not seeing the point in wasting time mincing words, plowed ahead. “Why are you fighting this war?” Mike, who had pulled his mask up far enough that he could continue eating, wrinkled his nose in confusion.

“Uhh...what?” he grunted.

“Why are you fighting?” Isic repeated, “I think you know that we are hopelessly outmatched to the point where it’s comedic that we’re even making an effort at all. So why do you keep trying? What’s worth all this to you?”

Oscar Mike seemed to freeze for a moment mid-bite of his sandwich, but he quickly swallowed it and wiped his mouth.

“As long as I’m still breathing it’s my duty as a soldier to continue fighting to save the star,” he said mechanically, with a stiff shrug, “We’re the galaxy’s last hope.”

“Save the propaganda poster bullshit!” Isic snapped, his tone light and chuckle-filled despite the way his fist tensed in frustration, “That’s not you. I don’t know any clone who’s lived as long as you, not without realizing they were cannon fodder and bailing. But you’re still here, and you’re still fighting to save these people - who, might I remind you, value your existence about as much as they value an ant’s - and their societies and homeworlds - neither of which you have ever been allowed to truly be a part of, and never will be! You have to have given all this at least _some_ thought, right? How -- Why do you keep...going?”

The words tumbled out of his mouth so quickly that Isic hardly recognized them as his own. Only as he faltered off into silence did he realize that Oscar Mike was gaping at him, mouth open and full of half chewed sandwich that he had forgotten to swallow. After a pause long enough for Isic to become completely overcome with dread and regret, Mike finally gulped it down and cleared his throat. Then, puzzlingly, he glanced over both shoulders and took a step closer to him, before lowering his voice to what Isic imagined was about as close to a whisper as Mike’s voice could even get.

“Okay, I, uhh…” Mike huffs, “Well, I would normally just...lie about this, cause this is...feelings junk, but, I’m, uhh...I’m trying to open up more and be more honest about this kind of thing, and since you’re always telling everyone else about how you feel sad about everything all the time, I figure you’re not gonna judge me, so...here goes.”

For a moment he didn’t continue, instead taking several very deep breaths as though to calm himself, holding the last one until his face began to turn a darker shade of blue than usual.

“It’s not really about duty,” he finally chokes out, the desperation of a drowning man in his voice, “Or honor or courage or jaundice or anything like that. It’s not even about the citizens of the galaxy or the star! I don’t know if we’re gonna stop the star from dying or if this is all gonna be worth the fight in the end, you know? I’m just...I’m here because I like you guys!”

This...was not even close to the reaction that Isic had planned for. Mike’s voice was wavering, thick with emotion, and he wrenched his helmet off of his head to wipe furiously at the tears that were pooling rapidly in his eyes.  
“Almost everyone’s been cool to me,” he chokes, “Even after they found out what I was, people didn’t care. Montana, Ghalt, Galilea, _You_ \--”

The explicit inclusion of Isic among the people Mike cared most about gave Isic a jolt.

“-- Even Whiskey Foxtrot, who I figured hated my guts, he recorded a nice message for me, and I guess...it just stopped mattering if there was a point to what we were doing, or if we were going to win, or if all that stuff you’re always saying about how ‘nothing has any meaning in the grand scheme of the universe blah blah blah’ was right, because for the first time in my life I was happy, you know?”

Mike was full on sobbing by the time he was done, and couldn’t rub the tears from his eyes as fast as they were coming. Isic could only stand there with his arms frozen stiffly at his sides and watch as he broke down in front of him, even as Mike extended his hand and gave the side of Isic’s tank an affectionate slap.

“Wow,” he coughed, regaining some of his composure, “I really went for it. I thought maybe I’d cry less since I’ve talked about this a few times now, but I guess I’m still pretty emotional thinking about all this I guess. But...yeah. That’s my real answer. Why do you ask, anyways? Was this some kind of morale review? Or a test? Did I pass?”

Isic had gotten so caught up in Mike’s response that for a moment he’d forgotten that he’d prompted for it.

“Uh, no, not a test, just a question,” he managed to stammer. He was too hung up on the implications of Mike’s answer, the idea that a clone soldier - someone who had as thorough a perspective on the insignificance and futility of life as anyone ever could - had found happiness and fulfillment at the end of the world rather than overwhelming existential dread.

“You’ve sure given me something to think about,” he said, “I’ll let you get back to it.” 

With that, he turned on his heel (but not before receiving another friendly slap from Oscar Mike and hearing him call him “pal”) and thundered down the hallway. He wondered tentatively if the feeling he’d gotten when Oscar Mike had mentioned him by name among his friends was anything like the emotion Oscar Mike described as his reason for living.


End file.
